Adieu
by hazelnut-latte
Summary: "Even a warrior needs a place to return." / BertholdAnn, drabble.


**Adieu**

**.**

**.**

Shingeki no Kyojin © Isayama Hajime

.

Warning**:** _A vague, almost plotless type of fiction. Blurred description;_ canon.

* * *

**I.**

(—There was a moment when he found himself dwelling in an undescribed dimness, with a pale faced, cranky eyed figure who just stood there—in front of him, surrounded by silence. And he knew exactly who that person was. )

(Or to be exact—_who she __was__._)

That figure closed her eyes—a lifeless spark of cerulean blue, which regularly stared with a bored, yet the deep gaze of hers.

After a moment, she opened it again. Her azure crystal met the black jade of his.

"What's the point of us… being here?"

There she said. A dead silence fell for one moment, wrapping the atmosphere between the two.

(_Clueless_; perhaps it was the perfect word to describe how he felt right away. But no—he wasn't one who show up his _curiousness_ in a way too easily. He was going to figure things out all by himself, especially for that… girl. The unapproached, cold-behaved young queen, who could startled his heartbeat—only by her presence.)

"To fight, Annie. To search for '_it'_… you know…"

Then came the answer from him. A vague, hesitantly-stated one.

* * *

**II.**

_(But of course, she knew.)_

"…the coordinate, like Reiner had said… his plan, well…"

(_Once again, she knew._ She knew it already.)

Therefore, what's the point of it? Is it really mattered? She was the egoist one here, a so called warrior who fights only for herself, cares only for her own aim.

"I see."

Her conversing partner nodded in agreement, after the brief reply of her came, silently knocking his ears. Like usual—the tall guy always found words seemed so unformed—left him all of sudden with a half bitten tongue, whenever he made a talk with the blonde girl.

(Well, this time, _it wasn't a small, chitchat talk_—but more like a rough and complicated one. _Literally_.)

"…anyway, how long we have to keep playing like this? It started to piss me off."

A silent disapproval. He almost could felt the dead color of boredom that laced under her breath, when the sour remark was being thrown into the soundless air.

"Why?"

He found himself asking. Curiously.

The blonde girl let out a weary sigh, before looking at the man—straight to his eyes.

"I'm not stupid enough to enjoy play soldier restlessly, Berthold."

Bluntly stated. Her conversing partner just raised an eyebrow, revealing a slightly confused—yet fumbling gaze on those black eyes.

"We are not soldier, Annie. We are…"

She cut in directly.

"—warrior. I know it. I know it already, Berthold."

(An uninvited silence came, moments later.)

* * *

**III.**

**_"Warrior."_**

She carved at that phrase, that very phrase—deep in her heart, like a memoriam made on stone, permanently scratched charcoal. She was a warrior—like him, reserved figure in front of her. And don't forget Reiner, too.

They are warrior.

—_When the others were just a bunch of pawn_. What else? They called themselves a soldier—yes, but what kind of soldier who would blindly take the harsh training, sweating over rigorous physical building— only to runaway like a scared child, to get as far as possible from the danger of the Outer Wall?

_Che._

They were just a bunch of moronic kids—a so-called-soldier who tirelessly plays around on a heroic act…

_(—nothing more._)

She sighed deeply, casting her usual solemn gaze to the tall, shy guy who unreasonably happened to be in front of her.

"Yes, Annie. We are… we are Warrior. You, Reiner—and I."

Those soft words came from him as the reply.

(_It touched __her__, it touched her heart. Serenely. A phrase which she was longing to hear __for__ all these years._)

**.**

Silently, she averted her gaze all of sudden.

"_I wonder…what's the point of this? Should we fight once more?"_

(He knew nothing. Berthold Fubar knew nothing about her.)

"_I'm tired to play soldier for so long, do you feel the same too, huh?"_

(Berthold Fubar wouldn't answer it, of course.)

"I, I…."

A gloomy silence fell between them, as her voice—_the breathless whisper of her __were__ trailed off._

* * *

**IV.**

"I, I…"

_Fumbling tongue, cracked voice._

And there he was. The tall guy just could keep silent—watching those dead words faded away beneath his breath and unable to respond it.

(But before he was be able to gain all his composure back, the sentence had came already. _From her._)

"—I just want to go home, Berthold…"

* * *

.

.

.

_**End**_

_**.**_

_Thanks for reading._


End file.
